


time travel hijinks and other hilarity

by melodiousmadrigals



Series: supermom [5]
Category: Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: A little bit of hurt/comfort I guess?, Barry is still my fave, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fluff, Found Family Dynamics, Gen, Steve Is Alive, Time Travel, basically just me being indulgent of my BrOTP Diana-Barry-Steve, communication!, one shots, pure fluff, still a fix-it, the author goes a little off the wall sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousmadrigals/pseuds/melodiousmadrigals
Summary: A collection of loosely related one shots set within the supermom universe.(aka Barry's shenanigans across time with our favorite supercouple)
Relationships: Barry Allen & Diana (Wonder Woman), Barry Allen & Steve Trevor, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Series: supermom [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477556
Comments: 46
Kudos: 195





	1. devant la rosace

**Author's Note:**

> no beta we die valiantly
> 
> I'm having a hard time giving up this AU, and instead of spam the tag, I've got some mostly-interconnected one shots to deposit here (because that's much more fun than a linear story that I'll abandon because I'm daunted by it, lol) 
> 
> Probably best to read the first fic in the series ("let's try for take two") for context? 
> 
> Mostly fluff ahead!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First one-shot: absolute fluff involving a sunny Parisian day and a surprise ceremony

It's just under a year after Barry pulls Steve forward in time that he gets the out-of-the-ordinary call from Diana. They keep in touch, and talk probably once a week or so unless there's JL business, and they certainly meet up when they happen to be on the same continent, but this time, Diana asks him to come to France. 

That's a new one; usually she doesn't request he make such a long trip. 

“I'm hosting a small get-together to unofficially celebrate Steve's return, and of course we’d love to have you there,” she says, by way of explanation.

Barry agrees, of course, because 1) he likes France and—far more importantly—2) he'd do pretty much anything for supermom, including but not limited to running transatlantic for a dinner and jumping off a cliff. 

So a week and a half later, Barry finds himself whizzing across the Atlantic and knocking on Diana's apartment at the surprisingly morningish hour she requested. 

“Barry, you made it!” Diana exclaims, looking radiantly happy as she opens the door. She quickly folds him into a hug (which, right there, the trip is already worth it, because Diana seriously gives the best hugs). 

When Diana steps back, Steve greets him jovially and also gives him a hug. (It's just unfair how on point their hug game is, collectively as a couple.)

It's then that Barry notices that they're in long coats, dressed to go out, which isn't too strange because he's managed to be a bit early. 

“If you do not mind walking with us?” Diana half-inquires. “We were just about to step out.” 

“Of course!”

They stroll the Parisian streets, and even though Barry has talked to Diana recently, he finds himself nattering on about his most recent case (at his Real Person Job) and his latest frustration with Bruce (who has decided he somehow isn't reaching his full potential despite the fact that he was able to literally _time travel_ ), and how beautiful the blossoming trees are along the Seine. 

Instead of taking him to a market, as he was expecting, they end up on a little side street on Île de la Cité, entering an old stone building that doesn't look like much. 

It's only when they ascend the tight, curving staircase and spill out into a room dappled in the glowing light of stained glass that Barry truly comprehends something is off. 

“Barry,” says Diana, “these are our dear friends Napi and Christele.” She points to the only two other people in the knave, illuminated by their own panels of stained glass respectively. “We have asked you here for a slightly different celebration—we are getting married, and we would be extremely honored to have you stand up with us.” 

Barry can't quite seem to catch up with what's going on, but then Steve and Diana take off their coats to reveal formalwear (a suit and a floaty red dress, respectively), and then Barry is crying and throwing his arms around both of them because it's _truly amazing_ and he's so honored and excited to be there. 

The whole thing happens with very little fanfare—there are, after all, only three guests. The woman, Christele, is older and introduces herself as _Etta's granddaughter,_ although that doesn't actually provide him much context. She stands next to Diana. The man, Napi, it seems, is the officiant, and motions for Barry to stand next to Steve. It's not like any ceremony Barry has ever attended, and for all that they're in a church ( _Sainte Chapelle,_ he later learns), it has no reference to any god, or traditional wedding-script, and the vows are mostly just Diana and Steve laughing at each other, and getting choked up at what must be inside-references. 

The whole thing takes maybe twenty minutes, and then Napi says that, by the power vested in him however erroneously by several nation states and a Native American god, they are wife and husband. Nobody even pretends to be in possession of a dry eye. 

Barry appoints himself photographer, because he has no problem placing himself even after clicking the button to snap the picture, and after a few shots, they all marvel at the streaming, dappled light for a few more moments, and then they head out, just like that. 

A queue has formed to get into the chapel, because apparently it's a tourist destination that Diana pulled strings to reserve for the morning, and they saunter back along the Seine. 

(Barry makes them stop for several more pictures on bridges and under magnolia trees. They'll thank him later.)

* * *

The ensuing celebration is lovely and everything an excellent day spent among friends should be; they traipse through several Parisian cafes for crepes and espresso and ice cream, and then have a delicious dinner at Diana and Steve's apartment. 

As they make their way into the living room after dessert, Steve pulls Barry aside. 

"I want to thank you again for saving me," Steve says, and even in the low light of the study, Barry can see there are tears shining in Steve's eyes. "I never thought...never dreamed I would have this chance." 

"You're welcome," says Barry. "I can't tell you how much it means to have been invited today." 

"We're both so glad to have you here."

"That's nice to hear," Barry admits. "All my life...well, I'm usually the one that's more attached, that's too enthusiastic, the one that needs people more than they need me. And…" Here, he pauses, because he doesn't know quite what he's dug himself into and doesn't want to offend Steve or Diana. But Steve seems to understand what he's saying. 

"And you find someone like Diana and you think, what could she possibly see in me, why would she ever want me around or need me the way I need her?" 

"Yeah," exhales Barry helplessly. 

"You and me both," Steve says, and they both chuckle. "But honestly, Barry Allen, you're a good man, and Diana loves you." 

Barry doesn't even pretend he's not crying too, now. "I love Supermom, too." His eyes go wide. "I've just realized: as Diana's husband, by the transitive property, you're superdad now!"

Steve laughs genuinely at this. "I'll be damned, I guess I am. What say we rejoin Diana and tell her the good news?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. Love you, Superdad."

"Love you too, Bare."

As they make their way back into the living room, to the sound of raucous laughter and eager conversation, Barry feels warm; not just joyful, but content, too. This, he thinks, is exactly what family should be like.


	2. Time Travel #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry has a problem, and takes a maybe-unauthorized jaunt through time for a little bit of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on my bullshit, y'all!! (Although that implies I was ever off it...) Here's another self-indulgent snippet.

There are a veritable encyclopedia's worth of rules about time travel, but Barry's condensed them down into three main ones for his general purposes:

1) Leave no trace (ie, don't muck with history, where possible);

2) Do NOT engage with your own timeline; and, in a similar vein, 

3) Never, _ever_ cross paths with yourself. No matter what. Even though you know you can time travel. All sorts of crummy paradoxes happen when you cross paths with yourself. 

They serve him pretty well, in general. Sure, there have been a few missteps, but that’s what learning is all about. And it’s never been anything so irreparable that the universe is in danger of imploding on itself. (Okay, so there was that one time that Gary, Indiana almost collapsed in on itself, but it was _one_ time, and it was just Indiana. Geez.) 

He also tries not to time travel unless absolutely necessary—and only for selfless reasons—but that’s just good practice. There can be plenty of consequences, and it takes a buttload of energy to do. 

Now, this is all well and good, except that one day, he finds himself in desperate need of Diana. (It’s a testament to the way that time really can dull old wounds, because the _first_ person he thinks of needing is Diana, and not his mom. He then feels guilty, which compounds his need to talk to Diana, because she always makes him feel better.) 

The thing is, Diana left for Themyscira last week, and she and Steve are planning to be there at least a month. There’s no way to reach her, because her phone apparently doesn’t get good reception there (ugh, Barry feels physically uncomfortable at the idea of going off the grid), and he doesn’t even know where Themyscira is, so he can’t run in unannounced. 

And then he remembers that he can time travel. 

It’s a bad idea; it really is. It’s unethical, probably, and stupid, certainly, but he really needs supermom, and he cannot wait a month. Really, he made the decision as soon as he connected the dots. The hemming and hawwing isn’t actually going to change the fact that he’s about to run through time for some comfort and advice. 

But the thing is, he’s strict about those three rules. He can’t just pop into next month, because that’s _his_ timeline. He doesn’t know what the JL stuff will look like, so he can’t just pop in and risk running into himself. 

Fortunately for him, he remembers just as quickly that Diana is immortal. 

The calculations take a half second to work through: he wants to be sure he can’t be crossing through his natural life, and he’d prefer if no one remembers that he existed. He settles on a hundred years. And then he takes off. 

* * *

It’s probably cheating. 

To see the world as it will be, a hundred years in the future? No one should have that power, probably. 

But honestly? He doesn’t actually process anything about the future, further than finding the tech to look Diana up. She’s living in Xi’an, and it takes him maybe half an hour after finding that information to find her. 

She’s still working at a museum (or maybe working at a museum again, he isn’t sure), and fortunately for him, he crisis-ed his way into the middle of the workday. He gets past the security to the offices, and then—trying not to cry—knocks on her door. 

“ _Qǐng jìn,_ ” she says softly, from the other side of the door. Barry has no idea if it’s a _come in_ or a _not now_ , but he enters anyways. 

“Hi, Diana.” 

Diana looks up. 

Eyes widen. 

Goes pale. 

“ _Barry!_ ” 

(It’s almost like when he brought Steve back, he thinks, absurdly. He’s probably surprised her almost as much, playing with time like this.) 

In a second, she’s across the room, pulling him into a crushing hug. (She always gives the best hugs, and future-Diana’s hug game is just as on-point.) He accepts it gratefully, and decides that even if it was selfish to come here, it was worth it. 

A few moments later, she pulls back and searches his face. 

“Are you alright? Are you here for the JL? What has happened?” 

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Barry hurries to say. “I just—in my time, you’re in Themyscira, with Steve”—he winces; he was going to do his best not to bring Steve up, to not open that wound—“and I really needed you. So I thought—I mean, I know it was selfish of me to come here, but I just—I just—” 

“Barry,” Diana says gently. “I am glad you have come. I have _missed_ you.” 

He _knew_ that he’d be dead, by now, had specifically calculated to make sure of it. But it still makes him sad that she might have watched him die, like everyone else. It’s a complicated feeling, because he’s glad that she misses him, glad that it seems like they were friends until the end. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “And I saw you eight days ago.” 

She smiles, a little bittersweet. “I do not think I am allowed to tell you when the last time I saw you was. But you must tell me why you are here, and how I can help. We will get lunch, and eat at my apartment. Let me just call my secretary.” 

Two phone calls later, after Diana has thoroughly impressed him with what he assumes is Mandarin, they are walking out of her office. 

“I feel food is a good precursor to whatever you need to talk about. I assume you are depleted from the journey.” 

“Yeah,” Barry admits. “Time travel is a little tougher than just a general run.” 

“Remind me of precisely when you are from—you mentioned Steve and I were visiting Themyscira.” 

“It’s your first time there, together,” Barry says. “You could take time off, because you’d just finished curating the Da Vinci exhibit for the Louvre. Our last JL mission was an aquatic alien from Messier 82.” 

The faintest smile twitches onto the left side of Diana’s mouth. 

“When Arthur—”

“—with the handbells—” 

“—and the canteloupe—” 

“—yeah!”

They both erupt into laughter, and it’s a good thing they’ve reached Diana’s apartment, or Barry’s sure they’d get awkward stares. 

“I’m glad that’s still funny,” Barry says. 

“I think it will be for as long as I remember it.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

There is a pause, and then Diana says, “So if this is post-Messier 82, this is about Joe.” 

Barry sobers. He knows that this is what he came here to talk to Diana about, but now that he’s here, he’s not sure that he has the words. 

He’s glad that he obviously told his contemporary Diana about this, even after the fact, because she seems to know what’s happened, and opens her arms for him. 

He cries, cries his eyes out, because he doesn’t know what else to do, cries so hard he feels like his heart is breaking. Lets the tears boil out of him, lets them wash away some of his most acute sadness and anger. Lets her soothing voice calm him just as much as the gentle hand on his back does. 

* * *

“Does it ever get easier?” he asks, finally, when the tears have faded and there’s a numbness left in their place. “Watching the people that you love die?” 

“No, it never does.” 

He thinks of Steve, wonders if he died of old age, and whether that was easier than the quick death, or if it ever really can be _easier_ when it's the people you love most. “It sucks.” 

“Yes, and no. It means that we are human, Barry. It is the greatest marvel of all, even when it hurts.” 

“You’re still you,” says Barry, huffing out something that might be the precursor to a laugh. “I’m glad. I worry—worried?—about you. But here you are, just as kind, and sensible, and supermomish as ever.” 

“I try not to lose sight of what’s important. It isn’t always easy.” 

“I’ll bet.” 

They chat for a while longer, and then Diana convinces him to stay for dinner, too. They end up talking well into the evening, reminiscing, mostly, because Diana doesn’t want to give too much of the future away to him. 

When it’s finally time for Barry to go, she gives him another tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Barry. It really was excellent to see you. Drop in on Steve and me when we get back from Themyscira—you’re always welcome, you know. ” 

“Thanks, Diana. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

He takes off, and soon he is able to throw himself into the vortex. He arrives home five minutes after he left. 

He’s exhausted, but he immediately pulls out his laptop and starts pulling up a calendar. He saw the nostalgia in Diana’s eyes as she’d said goodbye. He’s normally careful about his time travel, but if it’s for _Diana_ as well as himself...well, maybe he’ll just have to schedule out some trips to the next couple centuries. 

* * *

A hundred years in the future, Diana has returned to her apartment from the field where she saw Barry off, and immediately sinks into the embrace of the person now waiting there for her. 

“I miss him so much,” Diana says, wearily. “I had forgotten, a bit, how much, until he was here with me today. It was so _nice_ to see him.” 

“I know, love,” says Steve Trevor softly, pulling her closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just gonna leave it there... ;)


	3. idioms and immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeus—certified, hands-on, parent-of-the-year contender that he is—decides to pay our favorite supercouple a visit. The result is definitely dumbass Greek god approved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post, like, last week, but then life got in the way. I wrote this ages ago and I had SO MUCH ridiculous fun with Zeus. So much. Thanks for indulging said ridiculousness. also, I have a very strict "suspension of disbelief" policy when it comes to magical procedures...thanks x2

Steve has taken to keeping a spreadsheet of all the slang that Barry uses. It’s the most effective way to learn and remember it all, because Barry uses a _lot_ , and Steve likes to stay up to date. He’s certain he’s caught Diana sneaking peeks at it a couple of times, even though she claims to be aware of the vernacular, even if she doesn’t use it. 

The most recent additions are “on fleek”, which is apparently _so_ five years ago and why he hasn’t heard it from Barry more often, and “stan”, which is apparently both a noun and a verb. Dilly, honestly. 

He unlocks his and Diana’s apartment and tosses the mail on his desk, mentally cataloging the things he needs to do ( _update the spreadsheet, start dinner, email Waller_ ), when he gets the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that alerts him that he’s not alone. 

Well, shit. 

He drops his bag and carefully opens the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a second knife; the other is already tucked up his sleeve. He spins, letting go of the knife, and watches as it sails tip over end, aim true, before coming to a stop, midair, centimeters away from a tall man with a razor smile who is _absolutely_ the textbook definition of fuckboy. 

He hadn’t understood that one, not truly, when Barry had explained it just two weeks ago. But the guy in front of him is wearing a salmon polo and khaki shorts, with perfectly coiffed dark curls, a rolex, and a toothy grin. He oozes a slimy sort of charisma, and Steve just _knows_. This is the prototype, the model, the _hey, you up?_ OG fuckboi, as Barry would say. Steve almost wants to take a picture to show him. 

“That’s quite the aim you’ve got, Steve Trevor,” says the man. 

“Zeus, I presume,” says Steve, on instinct. 

“Right in one; I see why Diana likes you,” says Zeus, flashing a crocodile smile, open and just-this-side of honest and vaguely predatory. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asks Steve, wary and wishing Diana were here. 

“Me? I’m just here for a gift,” Zeus says, plucking the knife out of the air as he steps towards Steve, and Steve has to make a conscious effort not to step back. 

“I’m not sure I’m interested,” says Steve automatically, who knows exactly the sort of fucked up things Gods believed were gifts in the myths. 

“Oh, not for you, silly,” corrects Zeus, who has now very much stepped into his personal bubble. He reaches up and strokes Steve’s cheek. Steve forces himself, yet again, not to flinch. “Exquisite.” He pulls back, just a hair, and then shakes himself, as if recentering his focus. “No, this one is for my lovely Godkiller, who has proven time and time again to be an invaluable asset. Luck just happened to be on your side!” 

“I don’t unde—” stutters Steve, but Zeus has him gripped by both his shoulders, and suddenly there’s a golden light flowing out of Zeus’s hands and enveloping Steve. He’s rooted to the spot for several heartbeats, and then the gathering light pulses brightly and sinks into him. 

He blinks. 

He feels funny and there’s a rushing in his ears, but otherwise whatever Zeus did to him isn’t harming him outright. 

“Hmm,” says Zeus. “It appears you are worthy after all. Excellent.” He steps away from Steve, and then his face softens. He looks, by Steve’s estimates, at least 50% less of a dick. “Do tell Diana that though I am not the father she deserves, I do love her.” 

“With all due respect, why don’t you tell her yourself?” 

“Hmm,” says Zeus again. “No, I don’t think that’s right. I’m meant to stay out of my children’s business. This was already pushing the line. Do eat some of that, won’t you?” he adds, indicating to a bowl on the desk that had most certainly not been there the second before. “It’ll complete the process. Goodbye, I think.” 

Before Steve can say anything, Zeus manifests in a flash of golden light, and he’s gone. 

Steve remains there, shellshocked. 

Time bends around him, and it might be just moments later, or perhaps several hours, that Diana walks in through the door and finds him still standing there. 

“Steve, what on earth are you doing here—and with a bowl of ambrosia? Where did you obtain this?” 

“Your father was here.” 

“What.” This, flatly. 

“Zeus was here, and he said a number of very strange things to me, including that even though he hasn’t been a very good father, he loves you.” 

“He did what?” 

“And that he was going to give you a gift, not me, but I—I was lucky. And then he grabbed my shoulders and this golden light flowed into me.” 

“He did _what?_ " 

“And then he told me to eat the ambrosia, because it would finish the process, whatever that means.” 

“He did WHAT?” Diana repeats for a third time, with a proportionally increased yelp. Steve, as if on autopilot, moves towards the ambrosia. Diana catches his arm as he reaches out to take a piece. “Steve, don’t.” 

Steve blinks. He’d barely realized he was going to eat it. As a rule, he’s skeptical of anything the Gods do, but he still asks, “Why not?” 

“Steve,” says Diana seriously. “If he did what I think he did, then eating the ambrosia would be the final step to making you immortal. I do not want that choice to be taken away from you.” 

"Oh, I guess that is a pretty weighty gift." 

"The Gods are not known for their foresight or even-handedness." 

"The subtle is lost on beings that have existed that long, I suppose," says Steve half-absently, still somewhat dazed. It's not a rebuke necessarily, but it's an accidental reminder about what Steve stands to lose. 

"I will fix this," she says, instead of crying. 

"Diana—" 

"I can fix it; let me fix it." 

Steve sucks in a breathe, shakes his head a little to clear it. Diana steers him out of the study, and locks the door. Keeps the key.

"We will talk when I get back, yes?" 

Steve nods.

* * *

It is shame, deep and festering, that propels her out of the apartment to seek an audience with Zeus, almost as much as it is her righteous indignation over how he waltzed into their lives. 

It presses again her breastbone, ballooning in her gut; it thrums behind her eyelids, ticking in time with her heartbeat. 

Diana is ashamed, because deep down, she wants nothing more than for Steve to be immortal. Her want is an aching and desperate thing, painful in the profundity of its desire to never know Steve's loss again.

But immortality is, on balance, far more of a curse than a gift—she would know. She said that they would talk about it later, but she fully intends to stop Steve, even though it goes against every instinct she has. She _wants_ , it's true, but she, who prides herself on communication, on honesty, would never ask that of him. Can never ask that of him. And she keeps telling herself that so that the nagging little voice in her head, the selfish one, will be drowned out. 

* * *

Angry and scared, Diana hikes the tallest hilltop she can find, and smashes her bracelets together to send a powerful bolt of lightning arcing into the sky. 

"Zeus," she rages, "I demand an audience!" 

"No need to be _so_ dramatic," says a voice behind her, and she whips around to see the King of the Gods in the flesh, looking mightily similar to the last time she saw him, save for the outfit. 

“What were you thinking?” Diana snarls without preamble. “Trying to make him immortal without giving him a choice?” 

“Diana, darling, it was a gift for you. I see how you love him. I didn’t want his sad little mortal body to wither away on you.”

“That was _not_ the way to go about it!” 

“Wasn’t it?” 

“No! Everyone should have a choice when it comes to immortality.” 

“I mean, it’s really just Immortal Lite,” Zeus quips. “He won’t age, or die of mortal illness, and he’s got a bit of regenerative power going for him, but he can, technically, be killed. And I didn’t give him any other powers. Why are you so upset about this?” 

“You need to learn the meaning of _consent_ ,” Diana hisses. 

“I’ll be sure to find a corporate session on sensitivity training, or something,” Zeus says, and before she can say anything else, he manifests in a flash of light, and leaves her, chest heaving with anger, on the hillside. 

She screams in frustration. Zeus won't be answering any more summons, and the ambrosia at home will need to be disposed of safely. 

* * *

Steve has snapped out of his dazed state by the time she returns home, which calms her down just a little bit. They can have a rational conversation, and she can convince him not to eat the ambrosia. And then she can destroy it (along with the tiny, selfish voice that's been eating away at her). 

"I take it that the conversation wasn't as fruitful as you'd have liked." 

Diana massages the point between her eyes and says, "Zeus was supremely useless."

Steve snorts. "Gee, what a surprise. Known fuck-up proves unhelpful. More at eight." 

Diana eyes him. It speaks volumes of her current mental state that she doesn't even crack a smile. "It bothers me how flippant you are being about this." 

"It's been a lot to process." Steve heaves a sigh. "But I'm not sure I would've expected anything different from your father, had I been expecting anything at all." 

"I suppose not," Diana concedes. 

"So about the ambrosia—"

"We have to destroy it," Diana says immediately, bluntly. "Immortality is a curse, not a gift." 

"Don't I get a say?" Steve asks, but there's a smile playing on the edge of his lips, like he's resigned himself to the inevitable. 

Diana closes her eyes, pained. "You do not understand." 

"That it can be a burden? That it's difficult more often than it's easy? That you watch the world spin, and see people die? I think I do."

"Then you know why I cannot let you make that sacrifice." _I am protecting you,_ she wants to scream.

"I know why you can't let yourself let me, yeah." 

It's not quite what Diana was looking for, but she nods her head jerkily and moves out of the room, down the hall and to the study to destroy the ambrosia before she loses her nerve and begs him to stay with her. 

She's so distracted that she almost doesn't notice that the door is unlocked. 

The door is _unlocked._

"I'm a rather good spy," Steve remarks casually, leaning against the opposite doorframe with a sort of nonchalance that almost has to be faked. "One locked door wasn't much of a deterrent, in the end." 

Diana's face drains of the little color it had left. "Steve, what did you do?" 

"I made a decision," he says, simply. "One that I won't apologize for." 

" _Steve._ " There's a specific way she says his name when she thinks he's done something monumentally stupid. (She's using it now.) 

"I sat and thought about it, first," Steve continues, in the same tone of practiced nonchalance. "Once I was physically away from it, the compulsion disappeared almost immediately, and I was able to really _consider_ it." 

Diana has a hand clasped over her mouth, and there are plenty of warring emotions in her eyes, but she stays quiet. 

"I know you, Diana. For better or for worse, _I know you._ You would never allow yourself to ask me to do it, even if you wanted to. And it wasn't hard to guess that the first thing you'd want to do is get rid of the ambrosia. So I thought about what I wanted, and in the end, it was just more time with you, for however long you'll have me. It wasn't a difficult choice." 

Diana remains frozen on the spot, trying to process what's happened. That he ate the ambrosia. She wishes it had been done differently, of course, but she also wants to cry in relief that she might not have to watch Steve age and die in front of her. She feels horribly selfish, for feeling relief.

When she finally regains control of her faculties, she nods once, and then turns on heel and walks away, leaving Steve in the doorframe, mildly confused. 

* * *

"I think we probably need to talk." 

They don't fight often, and Steve always feels uneasy when they do. He thinks maybe they're fighting now, but the only way to be sure is to ignore the old, deep impulse to withdraw and actually _communicate_ instead, so he seeks her out after allowing for a bit of time for her to cool down. 

Diana tilts her head, a gesture she often uses to say _continue_. 

Steve takes a deep breath. "I said I wouldn't apologize for the decision I made, and I stand by that, but I am sorry for making it unilaterally, when it was something that affected you too." 

Diana sighs. "I did not give you much of a choice. I was trying to make a decision for the both of us, too, when it was not my decision to make. That is not how our partnership works."

"You thought you were protecting me." 

Diana's smile is sad, weary. "From the pain, yes. It can be almost unbearable." 

"You don't have to bear it alone." 

Diana's eyes are wide and magnified by unshed tears. "Do you not see? That is the worst part: you are condemned to this, too, and all I can feel is _glad_ , because I want you there with me!"

"It was a choice made freely, Diana. Allow me the dignity of my choice. One I'm content with." 

He can tell that makes her pause. 

"I am not mad at you, you know," Diana says finally. 

Steve just raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe just a _little_ ," she admits. "But mostly I am mad at myself. What kind of monster _wants_ this life for someone else?" 

"Someone who's human," Steve says wryly. "Someone who doesn't want to be lonely. Someone who wants more time. If you're a monster, then so am I."

"You are impossible and I love you for it." 

"Excellent. My rogueish ways prevail again." 

" _Impossible._ " 

He kisses her. Or maybe she kisses him. Either way, their lips meet and their breath mingles, and the tension in the room transforms into a very different kind. There are many nights for lazy, languid kisses, but this is not one. After an emotionally charged day, there is little room for anything but a desperate passion, and they quickly get lost in each other. 

* * *

"Hey," says Steve the next morning, when Diana walks into the kitchen. It's not often that he rises before her, and he's taking the opportunity to make pancakes. "How are you this morning?" 

"Better," Diana admits. Steve tosses her a smile. "It was really your choice to eat the ambrosia? You were not compelled?" 

"Cross my heart," says Steve. 

"I have never understood that expression," remarks Diana, "but if that is the case, I think I can let myself feel happy about this development."

"Good. You're allowed to feel happy, Diana. You're allowed to _be_ happy." 

"For a very long time, it did not seem that way." 

"Well, now we get to change that." 

"Yes, I suppose we do." 

"No more unilateral decisions when it affects both of us though, right?" 

Diana huffs a laugh. "Yes, those go spectacularly wrong." 

"Blueberries in your pancakes okay?" Steve asks, switching gears since the stove is hot and the batter is ready. 

"Yes. Do we have chocolate chips, too?" Diana says, peering over the counter with interest. 

Steve, who was expecting this, already has a canister out. 

For a few moments, they move around the kitchen with practiced comfort, as Diana pulls plates out and pours coffee, and Steve flips the pancakes. 

"Oh my _god_ ," Steve says suddenly. "I totally forgot in the craziness that was yesterday, but you'll never guess what Waller told me." 

"What?" Steve knows she's a little skeptical of his ARGUS boss, and therefore always interested to hear what she's willing to say aloud. 

As Steve launches into a story about a protocol that Waller is trying to implement, Diana pauses. 

It hits her, truly hits her, for the first time that this is a scene she might not have to give up. This soft morning, with blueberry pancakes and Steve gesticulating to illustrate a point—it's something she can let herself get used to, even as she savors it. She smiles, and allows the peaceful feeling of this moment to wash over her, alongside Steve's words. 

"Crazy, right?" Steve finishes.

"Yes; yes, it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> you can always come cry with me on tumblr (@melodious-madrigals)


	4. Time Travel #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry takes another trip forward, and is met by a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello bonjour YES I still remember this fic even though I've left it to wallow for a four whole months. 
> 
> ("I'm writing this for my own personal enjoyment and not for anyone's approval," I repeat, as I write some truly off-the-wall, dumb stuff. "It's okay to write things just because you find the scenario fun," I say, even as I doubt myself. "I'm posting it anyways," I tell my screaming brain. This is my way of saying this chapter is really just wacky, possibly incoherent stuff that made me smile, and nothing Highbrow or Deep.)

Barry quickly decides it's best to set his visits to the future chronologically, so that his and Diana's interactions are always moving, more or less, in the same direction. It's simpler that way; he won't have to try to remember not to spoil something about her future. Barry is well aware of his shortcomings, and one of them is that he has a big mouth. 

It's been more than a year since his first trip to visit her, and almost two since his trip back to 1918. Today, he's decided he'll make another jaunt forward; so far he's done a couple and they've been successful. There's nothing on the JL's horizons, so he'll have some time to recover. 

In no time at all, he's hurtled himself a little more than 200 years into the future.

He goes through his standard operating procedure: finds Diana's place of employment, and then goes about finding her.

This time, she's back in Europe, in Budapest. In his time, she has an apartment there, in a beautiful, historic district. He tries that address first. 

He can hear laughter from inside. He knocks.

The door opens, and it's Diana, dressed super casually, still looking back over her shoulder into the room, laughing at whomever is speaking. 

"Bad time?" he asks, in lieu of a proper greeting. 

"Barry!" she exclaims, spinning immediately and pulling him into a hug. 

"I can come back in an hour or a couple of days," he offers. 

"Nonsense!" she replies. "When are you from?" 

He gives her the date, and details the last couple missions. 

"Excellent," she says. "That's about the right time," and pulls him into the apartment. 

Barry feels his jaw actually, physically drop. 

Because there are three men sitting on the living room couches, and somehow, Barry knows all of them. 

* * *

Barry's seen some pretty trippy shit, but he was a thousand percent not expecting to find Steve Trevor chilling on the couch. 

"Not to be weird, but do I run you into the future again?" Is what falls out of his mouth, because Steve looks just as he did in Barry's yesterday, two hundred years ago. 

"Nope, I came the old fashioned way, the long way 'round," says Steve, getting up to give him a quick hug. "Turns out some stuff happened and I'm sort of immortal. We've kind of got a convention going today." He nods to the first man, Napi, who Barry has only met a pair of times, and then to the other man, Clark-fucking-Kent. Napi _might_ look a little older than the last time Barry saw him, but only by a couple of years at most; Superman looks exactly the same.

"What," deadpans Barry. 

"Yeah. That's the same tone Diana used, too," muses Steve, who has taken the few moments of Barry's stunned silence to confer with Diana. "It happens this weekend, in your time, so you can know." 

"I have godly parentage, also," offers Napi, which isn't a huge surprise to Barry. 

"I'm practically immortal so long as I'm not killed with Kryptonite or removed from a yellow sun planet," says Superman, which only clocks in as the second biggest revelation of the day, but one that Barry decides to focus on.

" _You_ peaced out to Kansas," says Barry, because this somehow seems relevant. 

"Not _permanently,_ " Clark says, scandalized. Then, "I'm in Omaha now." 

It takes Barry a second, but then he laughs, wonders privately if they know each other in the future since Clark's got a pleased sort of smile playing along his lips. 

"And you all just. Regularly get together. Immortals Anonymous." 

"It _is_ kind of a support group," Steve muses. "No religious undertones, though." Diana and Napi both give him a look, and he sighs. "No _creepy_ religious undertones, anyways," he adds, in deference to the fact that the two of them have godly parentage, and—well, Superman technically spawned a cult, for a while, so maybe _that_ bit is creepy. 

"We try to get everyone together every decade or so," says Diana. "There are a few more of us, but not everyone can make every get-together." 

"Well, thanks for letting me crash. What were you talking about before I showed up?"

"Thyxipenacals," says Clark automatically. 

"Huh?" He misses the look that passes between Steve and Clark in his confusion. 

Steve scrunches his nose. "A joober that got droll in, um, the 2170s?" 

"It was the 2160s," corrects Clark, shaking his head. "Toriflaxis was the 70s."

"Shit, I always get the 60s and 70s confused." 

"You're always mabbing the dice, Steve," says Diana, very seriously.

"I know, I know." 

Barry's gaze darts between each of them. "Are any of you speaking English?" 

Clark breaks first, his stoic face crumbling as he starts guffawing, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Diana and Steve crack up seconds later, and even Napi is chuckling. 

"Gods," chokes Steve, through his laughter, "your _face!_ I wish I had that on video!" 

"I am so sorry, Barry, we _had_ to," says Diana, struggling to control herself. Clark is still having trouble breathing, but Barry thinks he hears him say something that sounds suspiciously like "mabbing!" and "inspired!" 

"You guys are all assholes," says Barry affably, even though he's trying really hard not to laugh himself, because they really had him, for a second.

"We were actually just talking about politics," Napi supplies helpfully. 

" _Plus ça change,_ " quips Steve. 

"For what it's worth, Steve really does get the 60s and 70s mixed up," says Diana, mirth still in her eyes. 

Clark's calmed down, but is wiping tears out of his eyes. "I needed that laugh," he says. 

"Just to be clear, that was all just made up?" 

"Yeah, on the spot," says Clark, swallowing down another snort. 

"Good, because I would be _horrified_ if that was the slang I had to look forward to." 

They all dissolve into another round of giggles, because that _would_ be what Barry was concerned about. 

"Can you stay for dinner?" Steve asks. "We're barbequing."

Barry, who's well aware of how good Steve's spice rub blend is, enthusiastically agrees. 

* * *

Dinner turns into late-night conversation, which turns into him crashing on the couch (Clark has already claimed the guest bed; Napi has a short term rental in Budapest for whatever work he's currently doing), which turns into brunch, and it's mid-afternoon by the time he's reluctantly collecting his things. 

As he's getting ready to leave, Steve catches him. "You're planning on visiting again, I take it?" 

"When I can, yeah," says Barry. The Steve he knows in his time is pretty chill, but he still wonders if he's about to get a lecture about Being Responsible. 

Instead, Steve glances furtively over his shoulder and says, "I recognize that this is highly unethical and a gross misuse of your powers, but the next time you pop forward, can you bring, like, three pairs of these sweatpants?" Steve passes him a slip of paper with the brand and the description. "They're Diana's absolute favorite, but they stopped making anything like them about a century ago, and hers are tattered beyond repair. I've been darning them for a decade, now, but even that's not cutting it anymore."

"Totally, man. Anything else?" 

"Well, I wasn't going to ask, but there's a specific coffee collective that produced the _best_ beans…" 

"I got you, fam," says Barry. "Just write down as many details as you can remember or I'll 100% forget."

Steve scribbles out some instructions on a spare bit of paper and hands it off to Barry, along with enough euros to cover the cost three times over.

"I started collecting old money a while ago," Steve explains with an impish grin. "Just in case the need should ever arise. It's worthless now, of course, but all those bills should have the right dates to be valid in your time." 

"Has anyone ever told you that you've got the chops to be an evil genius?" 

Steve shrugs. "No comment. Either way, this isn't exactly the first time-heist I've been part of." He claps Barry on the back and walks away, leaving Barry mouthing _time heist?_ to himself. 

"Wait!" calls Barry. "You mean the one with me, right? Right?!" 

Steve just winks, and slips into the conversation between Clark and Diana, forcing Barry to drop the matter. 

* * *

When Barry walks into Steve and Diana's apartment back in his time, it smells like an autumn candle. Arriving in the kitchen, he sees Steve, icing a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls that have clearly just been pulled out of the oven and are definitely the source of the heavenly smell. 

"Do you guys just, like, permanently exist in a Home Living magazine or something?" he deadpans, instead of saying hello. 

"No," says Diana from the dining table, looking up from her work and pulling off her reading glasses. Barry hadn't even noticed her there. "Steve stress bakes." 

"It's true," says Steve, who has come around the island to give him a quick hug. "The amount I bake and my stress levels have direct, proportional correlation." 

"I read a study about that," says Barry. "Giving your brain a series of short, achievable tasks like you find in baking can reduce stress." 

"For _some_ people," he thinks he hears Diana mutter under her breath. 

He suddenly wonders if he walked into the middle of something. 

"The neighbors enjoy the sourdough," says Diana, rallying, but still frowning at the file in front of her. (It must be work, then. Barry breathes a sigh of relief.) 

Steve snorts. "The neighbors are too polite to say that this is Paris and some of the best bread in the world is disponible to them at 1 or 2€," he says ruefully. Then, nose scrunched: "Disponible?" 

"Available," corrects Diana absently. 

"Damn. Anyways, would you like a cinnamon roll?" 

He looks hopefully at Barry, who has to swallow down at least three different meme-based jokes, because now is _not the time._ "Yes, please." And then, because he can't resist, "They look so amazing. Too good for this world." 

"Yes, Steve's cinnamon rolls are excellent," says Diana, reading glasses on again, and it strikes Barry as odd because— 

"Do you really need reading glasses with the whole godly thing?" 

Diana goes slightly pink, and then a beat later Steve does, too.

"Not really," she says, pulling them back off. "I got in the habit of stealing Steve's sometimes, because—of a thing, from World War I, which is not important, really—and I have not gotten out, even though Steve does not need them anymore—oh!" she exclaims, cutting herself off. "Steve, tell Barry the news!" 

"We got a visit from Zeus." 

"What." They hadn't told him _how_ Steve became immortal, perhaps to preserve the integrity of Barry's reaction. 

"Yes, that's exactly how Diana said it." 

"But like. Zeus?" 

"Yeah, Zeus decided to bestow me immortality in the most Zeus way possible," Steve says, casually, as if encounters with Greek gods are no big deal.

Diana rubs at her forehead, like the memory is causing her stress. 

"So like—consent issues?" asks Barry, who sped-read basically the entire ancient Greek canon after finding out who Diana (and Arthur) was. 

Diana very clearly shoots Steve a look that says _See?_ and Steve nods. 

"Diana's still in the middle of an ethics battle with herself over it, but the general consensus is that we're pleased." 

"Is that why you seem off today, Di?"

Diana frowns, and flips through some notes. "No, it is a work matter. A coworker of mine is being unreasonable." 

"I'll fight them," says Barry immediately, because no one gets to mess with supermom. It draws a small smile out of Diana. 

"It does not warrant that." 

"I'll hack them?" 

"Again, not necessary."

"I'll follow them around and then, at the perfect moment, I'll speedster in and leave a tack on their chair like that scene from _The Incredibles?"_

The pause is just a little too long, like she's actually considering it, before Diana says, "Of course not, but I appreciate the offer." 

Barry shrugs, taking a second cinnamon roll. 

_Thank you,_ mouthes Steve from across the island. Barry's mid-bite, half the cinnamon roll shoved into his mouth (he's not _proud_ of it, okay?), and tries to convey his _huh?_ while he chews guiltily. Steve, thankfully, is pretty good at reading people, and leans across the island. "For making her smile," he murmurs. "First time she's done it all morning." 

"No problem," he says, swallowing, and then—having apparently learned nothing—stuffs the rest of the pastry in his mouth. 

"Okay, I am done with Claude for today," declares Diana, closing her laptop. "Barry, how _are_ you? How was your thesis meeting on Wednesday?' 

Barry smiles, because of _course_ Diana would remember that he'd mentioned being nervous about it last week. "It actually went really well," he says, before launching into a recount of the meeting, which then leads him to a story about his thesis advisor's dog and its rivalry with the Roomba. 

Before he knows it, they're three cups of coffee into the conversation, and he's helping Steve make homemade pizza for lunch (because, quote, his sourdough starter is "thriving" and he needs to use the discard somehow), and Diana is on the balcony reciting poetry dramatically and loudly in Hellenistic Greek on a dare from them. 

It's the nicest afternoon Barry's had in awhile, even counting the one in the future, and he finds that he feels lighter, somehow. He departs with just enough time to make his 11:00 meeting in the States, with promises to see each other soon on all sides. 

(If Claude happens to return from making his afternoon tea to find the entire contents of his office moved into a perfect mirror image of how it used to be, well, Barry doesn't have _anything_ he'd like to say about that. He's got a meeting, and even if he didn't, he's too busy researching an Ethiopian coffee collective.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thanks for hanging in until the end. I've had major writer's block, and just needed to get something cleaned up enough to put up, in the hope it would shake a little creativity loose. 
> 
> As always, stay safe as you can out there xx


	5. we all need somebody (to lean on)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A villain comes to town the same weekend Barry is meant to be camping with Steve and Diana. What's a superfam to do? Team up, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But could an ADHD person do _this_? [*Produces second chapter in as many weeks at 3am after 4 month hiatus*]
> 
> This is not quite as crack!fic goofy as the last chapter, and it was inspired by my enduring annoyance at every post-crossover solo superhero movie, because WHY would you deal with any difficult villain on your own if you had a bunch of superhero friends you could get help from? 
> 
> For anyone who cares, takes place post-wedding but pre-time travel #1...but, like, time is only notionally real so it can take place whenever you'd like, honestly

It just so happens that Captain Cold rocks back into town the same weekend that Diana and Steve are visiting. 

Of the admittedly fucking weird list of villains that Barry has dealt with, Captain Cold doesn't even make top five. It's true that his cold gun is wicked dangerous, but Leonard Snart himself has a sort of moral ambiguity that lends itself to something more of an antagonistically friendly rivalry than a true superhero-supervillain dynamic. 

Once, in an extremely memorable encounter, they'd traded a couple of barbs before Snart had done Barry a solid and re-slushified his frappuccino, before peacing back out of town, because he "really only was here to catch the Philharmonic's _Four Seasons,_ capiche? It was good but not as good as Vienna's two years ago."

Unfortunately, Snart has a vastly different agenda on this trip. 

"Man, my friends are in town," Barry complains as they trade shots in the abandoned warehouse where Snart is laying low. "Can you not wait and do this next weekend instead?"

"Time sensitive, I'm afraid," pouts Snart, and Barry groans in frustration. "It's not my fault that your dance card is full." 

"So much work," he mutters under his breath, but Snart must hear because he retorts: "I resent that. I'm extremely low maintenance." 

"That's something only high maintenance people say."

He tries to speedster in, but Snart knows him, is prepared, and a blast from the cold gun catches him across the cheek. It stuns him long enough that Snart gets away. 

Ugh, he's going to have to be an adult and deal with this problem instead of having fun with Steve and Diana.

* * *

"Hey, Supermom. Sorry I'm late," says Barry, as he slides into the chair opposite Diana at the coffee shop she frequents when in Central City. 

Diana waves her hand in absent dismissal. "I was listening to a podcast." 

"Anything good?" 

"Steve's hooked on _Welcome to Night Vale,_ and he convinced me to listen." 

"No way," exclaims Barry, momentarily forgetting his own dilemma, and she shrugs gracefully.

"Steve appreciated the Dadaist movement during the War. And then I lived through Surrealism, too, so I understand its appeal to him, even if it is not my cup of tea." 

"Iconic," breathes Barry. "We may just pull you both into the 21st century yet!" 

"Kicking and screaming," Diana jokes, and then sobers. "Are you okay? That almost looks like frostbite on your cheek."

"Oh, yeah, it totally is, but my metabolic functions will have it gone in an hour." 

"Barry, it is the middle of July." _Tell me what happened_ isn't spoken, but Barry still hears it loud and clear. 

"Yeah, uh, about that. I need a raincheck on our weekend, because there's, like, a villain in town and I need to deal with him." 

"Oh. Then we will take care of that and leave for the trip when it is resolved." 

"It's your _vacation,_ Diana," Barry protests. He doesn't want them sacrificing their time off for something he can take care of. 

"We are _here,_ of course we are going to help!" Diana says indignantly. 

Steve chooses to enter the coffee shop at that moment, bright pink smoothie in hand, and tilts his head so he can look at them over his aviators. 

"There are _so_ many smoothie combinations," he informs them, looking pleased, "even when you factor out the ones with kale. You've got to love that about the US."

He shakes the cup and takes a slurp to demonstrate his point. 

"There has been a change in plans, my love. Barry is having some trouble with an adversary, so we are going to help him before leaving for the beach." 

Steve doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, dope," he says, and Barry feels his soul leave his body for just a second as he rethinks every bit of slang he's ever taught Steve. "Families that fight crime together stay together."

 _See?_ Diana's pointed look says, and Barry sighs in resignation. It _will_ be nice to have some help. 

* * *

Two hours and a bit of reconnaissance later finds them drawing up strategies. Barry has a pretty good idea of what Snart's up to, and he's filled them in on what they're facing. A little digging yielded that there's an armoured car scheduled to deliver several hundred thousand dollars in old bills for disposal. 

"So you think he is going to try to rob the bills being taken for shredding?" 

"He said the reason he was in Central City was time sensitive. It fits." 

"And you believe him?" 

Funnily enough, Barry does. Snart has his own very rigid moral code, and is someone Barry might be friends with if they didn't find themselves on opposite sides of every conflict. 

"I do."

If he's expecting pushback, he doesn't get any. Diana and Steve take this assessment in stride, and he loves them all the more for it. 

"Right. Then let's get to work."

They all suit up, and Steve pulls out ear-piece comms for each of them from his suitcase. 

"...you brought tactical gear to go camping?" 

"I've found that it never hurts to be prepared." 

The mischievous glint in Steve's eye doesn't quite match the disarming smile on his face. He was _so_ hoping for something dramatic to happen. Barry suddenly feels less bad about dragging them out on a mission. 

* * *

They manage to intercept Snart at the shredding facility. 

"I'm honored," Snart drawls, when he sees that Diana and Steve are there too. "The mighty Flash doesn't want to tackle me alone." 

"My dude, what's the obsession with doing things on your own? That's a toxic mentality; I have nothing against help." 

It almost seems like Snart takes a moment to consider this. 

"Look," says Barry, "head out now, and we'll forget this ever happened."

"Touching, but I'll pass." 

And then all hell breaks loose; apparently Snart _also_ has backup, and they're not nearly so friendly as he is. 

It's a couple minutes of pandemonium—Diana's always had an elegant way of being able to take people out without _really_ hurting them, when she's so inclined, and Steve's skills are nothing to sneeze at—until suddenly, Snart has his blaster pointed at one of the support beams maintaining the structural integrity of the building. 

Snart fires as Barry dispenses with the last of his henchmen (minions? compatriots? Barry doesn't know), but Diana is quicker and blocks the path of the ray with her sword, absorbing the blast and protecting the building from potential collapse. 

But the personal damage is done: frozen beyond the limits of its already-low elasticity, the sword shatters. Diana throws the hilt aside in annoyance. 

"Uh-oh," says Barry, who's chosen to pause on the sidelines and watch. "You're in for it now. That was her favorite sword." 

From across the room, Steve grins like his day has just been made. 

Captain Cold goes down twenty-seven seconds later, and doesn't get back up. 

Barry sidles up, shaking his head forlornly. "Favorite sword," he repeats. "I tried to warn you, Snart." 

From the floor, Snart just groans. 

* * *

"Thanks again for the help, guys," says Barry as they're hiking through the dunes. The bills have been shredded successfully, and they've made it out to their original destination. 

"I think Steve had fun."

Steve wastes no time confirming this. "Watching Diana's face right before she punches bad guys is like a little hit of serotonin." 

Diana rolls her eyes, but a little color also rises in her cheeks. 

"Ew, no one wants to see you flirt, Steve."

"You have literally said on multiple occasions how cute we are." 

"The two are not mutually exclusive," Barry claims, and before Steve can reply, pivots back to Diana. "I really am sorry about your sword." 

"It is nothing more than a minor inconvenience," Diana says lightly. "Besides, I have a friend who owns a forge. I can commission a new one." 

_How?_ Barry mouths in Steve's general direction, face screwed up in bemusement. Seriously, who has casual contacts like that?

Steve is too busy sending Diana one of those gooey looks he's so good at, but it hardly matters, because they've arrived at the spot where they're setting up camp. 

Diana is in charge of building the campfire on the beach, because Barry's idea of getting a fire started is to supercharge himself and then blast some speedforce lightning at the pile of driftwood (but apparently that's "a hazard" and "Only you can prevent forest fires, Barry"), so instead, Barry pulls marshmallows out of his pack, because a having a campfire without toasting marshmallows is absolute sacrilege. 

He's swept up in a feeling of nostalgia as he turns his stick to make the marshmallow an even gold color, old memories tugging at the back of his brain, of camping and singing songs and roasting marshmallows in the flickering light before his family was torn apart. They're soft and sepia toned, and he starts to hum one of the songs his dad taught him, something rollicking and insensitive about a cow starting the Great Fire of 1871. 

_"—there'll be a hot time in the Old Town tonight."_

It's not him finishing the verse. Barry's eyes snap up, and he's not sure which of them is more surprised, him or Steve. 

"You _know_ that song?" Barry asks at the exact same time that Steve says, "You still have that song?" 

"It's an old fireside song," says Barry. "Kids learn it at—I dunno, summer camp or something. How do _you_ know it?" 

"It was a parody of—well, the original was an awful song, now that I think about it. But it was funny; we used to sing it as kids, before the War." 

"We used to sing it faster and faster until you mixed up the words," Barry reminisces. 

"My sister and I used to mix up the words on purpose to be funny." 

"That's so valid," Barry says seriously. 

They make eye contact for a full heartbeat, and simultaneously start singing again, going faster and faster as Diana claps in time to the increasingly frenetic beat, laughter ringing joyously across the crashing waves.

* * *

The dying embers find them still sitting on the beach, a comfortably warm breeze lazily tickling at their clothes. 

Barry leans his head sleepily onto Diana's shoulder. 

"Thank you," he whispers. "I'm so used to having to do things myself. I'd forgotten what it was like to just be given help without asking, unconditionally." 

"We are always here, Barry," Diana says, smoothing the hair off of his forehead. He'd forgotten what that was like, too. "Whenever you need us." 

A solitary tear escapes and tracks its way down his cheek as the emotion wells up within him. "Love you, Supermom," he mumbles, no longer really awake. 

"Love you too, Barry." 

He falls asleep against her, lulled by the warm summer air and the crashing of the waves and the security of being among family after a trying day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) like every author here, comments and kudos always appreciated
> 
> PS: There really is a dumb old song about a cow starting the Great Chicago Fire, and it really is a parody version that was popularized pre-WWI, which means it really is conceivable that Steve knows it, especially if he's from one of those middle states like Iowa or Ohio (which for some reason is stuck in my head?) where Chicago is relevant. The absolutely insane facts you find when trolling the internet researching niche things for fics, huh?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment or kudos and I'll forever feel warm and fluffy about you.


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